Dear Delirium
by Seazu
Summary: Set around the end of s6/first two episodes of S7. Some spoilers, based on Lucifer haunting Sam – but AU as Dean isn't aware of Sam's hallucinations and is preoccupied with trying to save Cas and Bobby. Rated M for future mature themes, sex and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**Dear Delirium  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M/NC-17  
><strong>Fandom:<strong>Supernatural  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Sam/Lucifer with Dean/Cas later  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>S7 (Spn)  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Hints of violence, fear, angst  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>1,021  
><strong>Language:<strong> English  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Set around the end of s6/first two episodes of S7. Some spoilers, based on Lucifer haunting Sam – but AU in the sense that it's not following the canon plot much beyond that, as Dean isn't aware of Sam's hallucinations and is preoccupied with trying to save Cas and Bobby. First chapter. Rated M for future mature themes.

"Wake up, Sammy, wake up,"

Heavy lids reluctantly slide open, pupils refocusing to the morning light. Sam rolls onto his back, staring at the dust particles drifting through the shafts of light blasting through the musty motel curtains.

"You sure are a fan of your beauty sleep."

Sam doesn't even flinch. He's used to the syrup growl, sick of it actually. He's grown weary of the mess of blond hair and unshaven face, the piercing blues analysing his every move. He wants the man who's been hitch-hiking the endless roads of his mind to abandon ship; he wants him to crash and burn in the pits of hell. Even a life spent completely alone would be preferable to the torture of having Lucifer bare-backing his brain.

A gigantic hand covers his face, as Sam lets out a pained sigh. He slowly becomes vertical, waiting for the rush to his head to settle before he tries to stand and get dressed.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy – are you trying to ignore me again?" Lucifer says, with a ripple of amusement present in his voice as he feigns exasperation. Sam could feel him circling like a vulture, but he refused to look.

"You really should know better than to do that," he says, his voice little more than a purr undulating in Sam's ear; the Angel's hot, sticky breath against the back of his neck. The younger Winchester turns away quickly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his chin into his chest just wishing Lucifer would go away, just for once give him some peace. The visits had become more and more consistent, him spending more time with Sam than absent. And it was slowly driving him insane.

"Alright, have it your way."

Sam snapped and spun around, lashing out – but his fist hit only air. Heaving and scanning the room from where he was stood, hands clenched into tight fists, he could see that he was finally alone. Finally it seemed Lucifer was giving up.

For a moment anyway.

There was a thud on the door then and Sam's hand instantly shot to the nightstand to grab his gun. He dropped his offensive stance the moment Dean entered the room. He nodded casually as if his brother training a gun on him was no big deal – had the front door been open all this time? Dean was as serious and focused as he always seemed to be these days as he moved swiftly around the room, first throwing a bagged breakfast on the table before organising their things for moving on. Sam just couldn't help but feel entirely quite jaded. The hauntings of Lucifer had been weighing on his chest for weeks now, but Dean had been so preoccupied with Bobby and Castiel that he didn't have the heart to put this on his shoulders too – and it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.

One moment Sam was standing in a motel room with Dean running circles around him, and the next thing they were in the Impala on the road. This had happened a lot to Sam recently, as if he was just blacking out, and waking up places without knowing how he had gotten there. It was like a dream-state that he was perpetually drifting through; but he didn't have the strength to question it. As much as he tried to ignore Lucifer, the Angel was wearing him down, and he was practically nothing at this point. Dean had to have seen the light go out in his baby brother's eyes, but something was halting him from questioning it. With the Winchester brothers, sometimes locking these things away proved easier; even if the problems and secrets inevitably exploded in their faces and caused relationship shattering repercussions.

Day melted into dark, and Sam took the night-shift so that Dean could rest. The silence then, in the dead of the night on the open roads, with only the occasional chain-saw snoring of Dean was practically heaven for Sam, and he didn't take it for granted.

"It's Heaven for you?" Lucifer says, suddenly in the back seat, leaning forward so that the light of the moon caught his eyes when Sam stares at him through the rear-view mirror. "Interesting choice of words."

"Shut up," Sam says, his tone low and gruff, being careful not to wake his brother.

"Considering that you're actually in hell, right now." A smile plays on Lucifer's lips, obvious amusement from toying with his apparent play-thing.

"How could I forget, I'm you're little bitch, right?" He snaps, trying to keep his eyes glued to the road but getting frustrated at himself because he can't keep them from flitting to the mirror. "And stay out of my head," he adds after a pause.

Lucifer chuckles, "now where's the fun in that, bunk buddy?"

"Remind me why you're doing this again."

"Because it's cheaper than a movie?"

"Hilarious."

Dean grumbles, shifting slightly in his sleep, and neither Angel nor Hunter speaks until he drifts away again.

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all day?"

Luci gives him a dry look through the mirror, "I'm stuck in a cage in Hell with you and Michael," he states, "and wouldn't you know, I forgot the monopoly."

Sam shakes his head, not speaking for a while, Lucifer just seems to look a little smug and sits back again, casting his face in shadows. "I know you're not real."

"Right, Sam, right," he says, but it's somewhat more disturbing when his voice just seems to drip from the blackness. In a flash of a second there was a pressure as Lucifer was suddenly clutching Sam's throat. The car swerved, but he quickly regained control, and luckily for them all it was pretty much deserted at this time of night. Dean stirred suddenly and he growled something probably along the lines of "what the hell, man!" but Sam couldn't hear him over his own chokes, and the harsh hiss of Lucifer words right by his ear.

"Does this feel real to you?"


	2. Chapter 2

A heavy hand disregards crinkling packets of chips, pushing past the packets in front to find the one requested by his Munchlax of a brother. Sam's hand suddenly clenches the edge of the shelf, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip as the sound of clashing hooks and chains thunders in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing away the darkness bleeding through the shattered remnants of a wall in his mind. He tries to think of the better times – playing with Dean, those rare days spent as an average teenage boy, and the fantasies of a normal life that he once held so dear. And still the fiery torment of the cage seeps through, infecting his mental escape from the world; making everything bitter and twisted.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Sam twists up suddenly, and realises one of the store's employees is standing next to him, a worried look on his face with a hand hovering just above his arched shoulder as if uncertain whether touching the hunter would end in him spontaneously combusting.

His eyes refocus on another employee emptying bags of change into the cash register, making an unmistakable metal _clink _which had triggered this episode. Managing to shake his head and force a smile, he swallows and nods to the gawky boy, "I'm fine," he hesitates, staring past him again at the boy at the register, "thanks."

He turns and heads away towards the fridges at the back of the store, one hand clutching a slowly filling basket and the other now hooking the plastic rings of Dean's choice of beer – the cheapest piss-water available. Dumping the six-pack into the basket too, he nudges the door shut with his shoulder and turns around again in the direction of the tills, immediately walking into someone. He stumbls back and quickly apologizes, before looking up into those all-too-familiar baby blue eyes.

"Clumbsy Moose, aren't ya'?" He says, with that same streak of amusement he always seems to get when he induces that terror and hatred in Sam's eyes. He leans casually against the fridge, right in Sam's path. And the younger hunter is aware that people in the store are regarding him suspiciously after his little meltdown in aisle three. To avoid looking more peculiar by having to walk around Lucifer, he turnsand walks unnecessarily down to the other end of the aisle and to a check-out, plonking his basket in front of the cashier and fiddling through his pockets to find his wallet.

He does his best not to look at Lucifer as he begins to pick up things out of the basket and examine them with curiosity. He also tries not to react when the Angel hops over the counter to start meddling with the man serving him, dragging his chewed up nails down the guys' cheek so roughly that it draws blood, gripping him by the hair and whispering dark things into his ear just to get some reaction from Sam. It was getting too much though, and the screams and cuts and clinks that forever linger in the back of his mind, are growing in a great crescendo with every second longer the check-out guy postpons the scanning and bagging process. As soon as he utters the price, Sam slams the notes onto the counter and grabs the bag, walking out as quickly as he can, calling "keep the change," behind him.

His hands are shaking as he tries to find the right key for the Impala and shoving it in with haste, dumping the bag in the backseat and slamming the door behind him as he sits, suddenly frozen in the driver's seat, hands glued to the wheel in a perfect ten-and-two position.

"They think you're insane," comes that malicious purr from the passenger's seat, but Sam can't look up.

Sam doesn't respond immediately, the words are clawing up his throat in a rising lump that almost chokes him, "only because you were molesting the employees right in front of me."

"I wasn't talking about them," he says, his tone sharp and cruel, and Sam looks up with a deep sadness in his eyes, "I was talking about Dean, and Bobby."

His eyes feel hot very suddenly, with a prickling in them as if tears are forming, but none come. He moves his gaze to the window, staring out at the lazy drifts of cars as they trickle by on the small-town road. He feels strangely disconnected, from everything. Even the sounds of torture in his head have turned to static. "I know."

Lucifer watches the man for a few more moments, observes his vacant eyes and checked-out expression before he mimics him, turning his body around to stare out of the front window and watch the cars drive by. For once he doesn't speak about how this is all a fantasy, or turn him against his family and himself, or try his best to make him crack – they just sit in a silence that's almost on the verge of being comfortable. It's just what it is – a stalemate. Because Sam has given up for today. He can't physically fight this demon alone right now. He's accepted his own insanity, and the fact that the chances of being patched up in a few days is nil. He knows that this is what he has to deal with, and it must be done one step at a time.

They sit like that until Sam's phone begins to buzz, and he picks it up and answers after barely glancing the name Lars Ulrich on the screen, "Dean?"

Lucifer watches the broken man converse with his brother, putting on the usual brave face and smiley attitude that fools no one. The older Winchester brother is obviously asking where he is, how he is, what's taking him so long, and reminding him not to forget the pie. Sam breezes through all of the questions like it's second nature, because it is. He's had to go through this dance every other day since he was old enough to open a book and tell them how to kill.

"Okay, I'll be back soon." The phone disappears into his pocket and after a few moments hesitation with his hand on the key, he turns it in the ignition and starts the Impala up with that growl that's the closest thing to creature comfort the brothers can get these days.

They pull out of the relatively derelict car-park, probably much to the delight of the More-Store employees who were probably gathered around the monitor conspiring over what was wrong with Sam and what he might do next; taking bets on the idea that he has a trunk full of guns and is some sort of psychopath. All he can think of is how this will all end.

"It ends with you," Lucifer says ambiguously as he pulls testingly on the seat-belt, strapping himself in with an expression only Curious George could rival. Sam refrained from snapping about Lucifer staying out of his head again, to peer across at him with question. "It ends with you, stripped of hope, lonely, battered and broken. So gloriously fragile. This is the final torture, Sam. This is it."

Those words ring in his head the whole way back to the newest notch in their motel belt – The Pitz Motel. Probably some play on "The Ritz", but right now the humour isn't so much appreciated. Sam dumps the bag on the table when he came back into their room, greeting Dean with a nod. He falls back onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. The caged feeling of the motel room is beginning to suffocate him already.

There's a grumble across the room as Dean searches through the bag, "seriously, dude? You were gone this whole time and you still forgot the chips?" he snaps, "perfect." But Sam doesn't move, barely even registers the words, even as the Devil lies next to him on his starch-reeking bed, mimicking the posture he holds. Maybe this _is_ the real life, but all that really matters is what's real to him, and right now that was being infected by Lucifer and his toolbox of tricks and torture. His reality is being warped, and is getting worse as more and more of his memories of hell began to bubble to the surface.

"You should really get some rest bunk-buddy, the fun's only just started."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam couldn't ignore the folded-up trenchcoat in the trunk of the Impala. It had been there since Dean had lifted it from the reservoir after Castiel had…

The younger Winchester could see that this had broken Dean – on top of Sam's hallucinations, and the destruction of Bobby's house, and the Leviathan's plaguing the state, maybe the whole country by now; he had lost his best friend. On one occasion, a few days after they had last seen their Angel friend, Sam had watched Dean from a motel window, looking as if he was about to pull on the coat. He stopped before he even got one arm in a sleeve and after a moment's hesitation had folded it just as delicately back into the trunk.

You didn't have to be a half-Demon mind-reader to tell Dean still hadn't really gotten over it. He thought he was always so strong, that no one would notice when he pushed these things away; but how could he forget that Sam had been with him all of his life, and he could tell so clearly when Dean was hurting?

"Do you think he's still…" Sam trails off not wanting to finish the sentence.

Dean looks up at him from across the table, suddenly aware that he'd been staring at his hands for the past ten minutes, crushed together in front of him. The bar's dimly lit with a low hum of talking over the sultry music leaking from the jukebox. The sounds pick up and die down in waves, but any noise is welcome because it breaks up the tension – until now it had stopped Dean from trying to find the words to ask Sam how he was _really _doing, and Sam to ask Dean how _he _was really doing.

There's something broken in Dean's forest eyes as he finally looks at Sam – and _really_ looks at him. They don't move for a moment, just staring into eachother's eyes before Dean breaks it in place of taking another deep drink of his beer. A whole lot more goes unsaid between them, things that neither can bare to speak aloud.

"We'll find him, Dean." Sam says then, trying to leak some hope into his voice, loud enough for his brother to hear, but soft enough that it doesn't stand out over the lively buzz in the Four Pigs.

Dean looks up a little and nods shallowly.

"No you won't," comes a cruel hiss which is far too close to Sam's ear. He tries not to noticeably flinch, but he knows Dean's too bummed out to see it. "You won't find him because he's dead. He's gone, he's buried. He's broken beyond repair, bloated in a lake for the bottom-feeders to chew on when they're bored. Your little Angel-bitch is gone."

Sam tenses up. He then clears his throat in an attempt to brush Lucifer off; but his hands slither over his shoulders and grip them too tight. "Think about it, they wouldn't just throw him away," he says, making himself sound stronger than he was feeling with the Devil leaning on his shoulder, trying to look pensive. "The Leviathan's want power and knowledge, and Castiel's the ultimate source of that."

Dean looks up again, a little more hopeful as Sam tries to avoid looking at Lucifer who has now perched himself on the chair between them, standing on it and then sinking down until his knees pushed into his chest, hugging them close. "On top of that, they know how much he means to us, and how much we mean to him – because whoever's possessing him, they're seeing through his eyes." Sam begins to get a little more confident in what he was saying, "And that means they could use him as a ransom against us-"

"That's not really a plus Sammy-boy," Lucifer says with a crude smile, looking down at a little chain he keeps twisting through his fingers and around his hands with the same curiosity you'd expect from a Kitten playing with a curtain tassel. Sam swallows roughly and tries to continue, "and that means he's safe until they figure out what it is that they want, from us at least."

Dean purses his lips and nods, staring into what's left of his drink. Sam smiles a little, more assured now that he can see he's at least inspired some hope in his brother, and his logic – although a little tangled since he was put on the spot – didn't sound all that far-fetched.

"Oh please, he's dead – dead, dead, dead." Lucifer snickers, head bobbing closer with every repeat of the word. Sam averts his gaze quickly, and Dean suddenly picks up on the movement. His eyes flash between Sam and the spot he was just looking at with wide eyes. His head tilts a little to one side, a trait Sam thinks is a mirror of Castiel, and says, "is he here, now?"

Sam looks a little forlorn as he nods sullenly to Dean.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"He just sorta… popped up," he tried to explain, feeling the frailty of that statement almost as soon as it rolled off his tongue, and it reflected in his expression.

Dean rocked his head from side to side, nursing it in the palm of his hand, "Sammy… you gotta tell me these kinds of things."

"Ooh, I think big brother's mad," Lucifer teases, wagging a finger at Sam and tutting.

"Shut up," Sam hisses back and immediately turns to give Dean an apologetic look.

Dean takes a deep breath, and stares back at Sam, shaking his head a little as if deciding what he needed to do.

Sam presses his hand into the table, ignoring the sticky pull of decades of spilled drinks on the wood. He's always hated that look, the one everyone seemed to give him, the look that said he was a freak. But he had accepted that now, that was part of who he was, and there was nothing he could do to change it. However that never seemed to stop Dean and everyone else from regarding him like he was some sort of side-show. The undying love between him and his brother had seemed to dwindle since the Demon-blood came to light. "I'm dealing with it."

"Oh well that's such a relief," Dean snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look, I didn't ask for this-"

"I know, Sam, I know; but just think about this, how does this end if you don't work with me, with Bobby, to get yourself better?" Dean says, trying to manipulate some reason into his tone.

Sam's eyes slide sideways to look at Lucifer. The Angel's hand is folded into the shape of a gun, and with a wicked smile, he slowly and painfully brings it up to his mouth whispering, "you know the spot," before pretending to pull the trigger and dramatically fall back.

Dean wags his hand in the air between them, "hey, hey – look at me," and Sam rips his eyes away from Lucifer to his brother again. "It ends with you in a nut-house, or you-"

"Dead, I know."

The way Sam says it softens Dean instantly and he nods, "right," and there's a pause between them which Lucifer uses as an opportunity to pick up Sam's glass and start examining the liquid, testing it timidly with a quick dart of his tongue.

"We're in this together, just like everything," Dean says, nodding again with reassurance, and Sam can see that this is a strain on him too – and it's his fault. "Stone number one, remember?"

"I know, thanks Dean," he says unsurely, but pulls a smile and claps his hand down on his brothers a few times before pulling back.

"Well isn't that sweet," Lucifer says in a dry voice, his half-lidded eyes filled with boredom and contempt for the Winchesters.

"We should head back to the Motel, Bobby'll be goin' stir-crazy by himself in there," Dean says with a quick grin as he grinds his chair back and stands. Sam follows suit, nodding and saying, "yeah," with a slight smile in return.

Dean head's out ahead of his brother, but stops to call behind him, "and tell your buddy, Lucifer that he ain't invited."

Sam turns in time to see Lucifer purse his lips and raise an eyebrow like a huffing child. He leaps down off the chair and stands to his full height before following after the Winchesters back to the Impala. Sometimes Sam felt like there was a rope tethered between himself and Luci. No doubt they had a lot in common – it was how he and Dean had been connected to Lucifer and Michael in the first place; it just surprised him how reliant Lucifer seemed to be to him sometimes. His head was telling him Lucifer was bad news, but sometimes he actually found himself glad for the company, even if the Angel terrified him and made his mind feel as fragile as a crumpled leaf.

He looks down at his hand as they walk into the parking lot, at the bandage Dean had wrapped around the palm, and he steals a look at Luci for the briefest of moments before he shoves it into his pocket and jumps into the passenger side for Dean to drive, Lucifer popping into the back without a sound.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam flinches at the sight of Lucifer. He's so sleep deprived that he isn't even sure if he's real or not – well, if he's a regular hallucination or something to do with the fatigued state he's in. He massages his temples as he leans into the desk, the only light in the otherwise pitch-black motel room is a hot lamp peering over him. Dean and Bobby had gone out to follow up on a lead on a local case, and left Sam behind to do research. He was aware that it was probably just because they didn't trust him, that they didn't want him out on a hunt; but the fact that they trusted him enough to leave him alone was something, at least.

"Did the other boys not let you play with them?" Lucifer asks, pursing his lips with mock sympathy.

"Why are you still doing this?" Sam asks, ignoring the Devil's tease without even looking up from the book before him. He's been staring at the same line for what feels like hours now, but it's just blurred squiggles to him. "We both know you're not even real, so why do you keep coming back?"

Lucifer tilts his head, considering the question for a moment before he looks down at Sam with a smile that gives the hunter a chill, "because I want you."

A series of noises stumble past Sam's lips before he finally manages to say, "excuse me?"

"You're the one who knows me almost better than my own siblings, you understand me – and I understand you. Why would I want to give that up? Don't tell me you don't feel somewhat at peace around me – I know you do. I can see it in you, I can hear it in your thoughts. Sometimes, on nights like these, _you miss me_." His words twist and lash at him, snaking their way into his head and breeding thoughts, tugging on feelings he had been pushing away and denying all of this time. As he spoke, Lucifer's hand dragged gently across Sam's tense shoulders, causing a ripple through his body at the touch.

"No…" he says, but even he can hear how weak that is; and Lucifer takes advantage of that to bring his face next to Sam's, still leaning of him from behind. Sam winces slightly at the scratch of Luci's rough stubble against his cheek, but still finds it strangely erotic. "No," he says with more strength now, pulling away and stumbling across the room away from the Angel who holds his usual deep smirk.

Luci saunters towards him, head hanging low, giving him a predatorial look, "come on now, Sammy – you know you want this. You've been yearning for it – there's no point in hiding it, I can see inside your head," he says, tapping his index and middle finger gently against his own temple.

There's a rush in the pit of Sam's stomach when Lucifer's so close he can practically feel the heat radiating from him – which should be impossible, but it feels so real. His body is rigid, and all he can think is: _this is Lucifer, this is the devil. He tortured you, he fucked up your head, he fucked up your life, he isn't even real. _

"You're missing, 'and he's a guy' from your list," Lucifer says in that low, dry voice which almost makes Sam wince from the feeling it gives him.

"I think that's the least of my worries when it comes to you," he manages to say, though his throat tightens near the end making him sound choked.

"Stop me then," he says, and the gap between their bodies finally closes. The Devil's hand pushes against his abdomen, roughly dragging up across his chest and curves around his neck. Despite the roughness, there's a gentle elegance to his movements. Sam had always observed Cas as seeming quite stunted and stiff in his vessel – like the Tin Man –, but Lucifer seemed to flow and move with such grace; which was surprising considering his hatred of the Human-race. Well, most of them.

Sam doesn't try to stop him though, he's just pressed hard against the wall under Lucifer's surprising strength, with his other hand now working its way down his hip. Luci's fingers get a tight grip on the back of Sam's hair, pulling his head down and suddenly their lips clash with huge force. Sam makes a noise, but it's hard to tell whether it's from the pain of Lucifer's grasp of his hair, or from the nip of Lucifer's kiss. Apparently he's a biter. The copper taste of blood bursts into Sam's mouth. He only pushes further into the kiss though; his hands slide down Lucifer's back, pulling him in a smooth curve so their hips crush together.

The desperation in the embrace increases as they start to strip off eachother's clothes. When they're finished, they pull away slightly, hot and panting; their lips raw and puffy, with a ruby glisten of blood smudged across their faces. There's a glint in Sam's eyes, taken over by a demon of lust. He comes slowly to Lucifer, pressing his bloody and battered lips against the Angel's collarbone. He then starts moving down, leaving a crimson trail down his chest and following his hip bone until he's on his knees and level with his hardened cock, he looks up at Lucifer who still retains the deep smirk, only breaking it to let his tongue dart out and lick Sam's blood from lips.

Sam navigates with surprising skill until Lucifer is pressed back into the wall, his face a mask of pleasure. It irritates the Hunter that he's silent though, and he works harder and faster to get something out of him – just a moan, a whimper. It makes him feel so weak in comparison, as he can barely keep himself from moaning aloud as Lucifer's hands press into his head, entwining his fingers in the other man's hair to control the pace and depth until Sam is gagging.

Lucifer pulls Sam away before he comes, but from the Hunter's perspective, it seems like the Angel has a lot more stamina than that anyway. He's pulled up into a standing position again, and takes the opportunity to curve around Lucifer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and slowly nip and suck on the flesh there until it's raw and throbbing. Luci's nails scratch down his back, and he can feel the sting of blood from the fresh wounds. His whole body seems like it's on fire with this unexpected lust for Lucifer; and he can't keep his hands from tracing every part of the man. Luci seems to follow suit, and that curiosity that Sam had observed before came into play as he became absolutely absorbed in exploring every inch of Sam's body – and that was a lot of ground to cover. They moved awkwardly around the room during this process, exploring eachother with lips and tongues and fingers; twisting, licking, biting, petting, rubbing and nipping until they were both satisfied.

And just like that, the time for foreplay passes and Lucifer pushes him over the edge of the bed, sucking on the same fingers he had been pressing against his temple just minutes ago, and then he was pushing them inside Sam to loosen him up. Sam groans and struggles a little as he's forcefully spread and prodded, biting into the sweat-soaked bed-sheets. As Lucifer works on him, he slowly drags the Hunter further onto the bed until Satan is kneeling behind him, ready to enter.

This is a sign of dominance. It's a portrayal of what Lucifer has been doing to him since this whole thing began – he's being fucked by the Devil. Before it was just mental, and in the cage it was a whole other sense of the word than this case… but this was it. This was happening. And he wanted it to happen, he wasn't even putting up a fight.

And finally, Lucifer was inside him.

Sam lurched forward a little, but was held in place by the other man's hands, nails digging into his flesh and leaving two rows of half-circles into his shoulders. The angel pounds him, hard and mercilessly, pushing deep inside him before he's ready to take it. Even then, he doesn't grunt, not a noise but the clap of skin slapping skin and Sam's whimpers and whines.

A static feeling in his body starts to swell, making the pain drift away and become easier to manage against the growing pleasure. With effort he reaches behind him to cup Lucifer's balls, stroking them and squeezing a little; but he's losing the ability to concentrate on anything, and his movements are jutted.

Lucifer speeds up the pace as he comes closer to climax. His hands have slid to Sam's hips at some point, gripping him sharply to control his movements again. Sam's too dizzyingly close to orgasm to notice Lucifer's head thrown back as he releases inside the Hunter, his rutting slowing to the last few pushes before he stops to just enjoy the moment; and enjoy the feeling of Sam losing control beneath him. He drapes himself over Sam for a few moments, before he slides off and rolls next to him on the bed. Sam is frozen in his position for a bit longer than Lucifer, occasionally flinching or jittering with the aftershocks.

"Sammy… Sammy…" The younger Winchester looks across at Lucifer, but he isn't speaking.

"_Sammy!_"

Sam juts awake, eyes blinking in confusion as he stares across at Dean's frowning face, "rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he says with a little too much cheer. As he lifts his head off the desk he had fallen asleep at, Sam's eyes follow his brother around the room, noticing Bobby as his vision clears and finally the grinning face of Lucifer sitting in the corner.

"Good dream?" Dean asks with a wink.

"You have no idea," Sam replies dryly, keeping his eyes on the corner where Luci's perched. _Stay the fuck out of my head…_

But the Angel doesn't say anything, just winks and disappears into the shadows.


	5. Chapter 5

**An: **Just a little skit. I'm working on something a bit longer, and this popped into my head, so I thought I'd pump it out and upload to make sure you know I'm not dead. PG-13 or something idk.

"You broke your promise," Sam says without looking up as he services his gun.

Lucifer cocks his head, "hm?"

"You told me that you'd never lie to me, or try to trick me," he continues, hands moving with expertise over the weapon, pulling it all apart. "And yet here we are."

Lucifer's silent for some time, and only the _clinks _and _clicks _of Sam working occupy the room. And then he shrugs, "this isn't lying or trickery – this is torture."

_Clink._

Sam's head finally moves like he's going to look across at Lucifer, but he doesn't, he hesitates and just stares at the wall before rolling his eyes and saying, "that's exactly what this 'torture' is though, it's lies, it a scam." He looks as though he's going to say something else but his brain is beginning to flicker with anger so he bites his lip and concentrates on his gun again.

He's pulled it apart and reassembled it countless times in the past hour, cleaned it better than it had been in a while.

_Click._

_Click._

_Snap._

He needed to focus on something, but this has been eating away at him for a while now. Compared to Michael, Lucifer had always seemed so sympathetic – it had obviously been something of an act for the most part… but still. When he had once told Sam that he wouldn't lie to him, he had actually believed it.

_Clink._

For the most part anyway.

"Sorry to disappoint, but as you never tire in pointing out – I am the Devil."

_Snap._

"Are you though? Or are you just some messed up defunct in my brain?" His hands are working furiously now, "You're back in Hell, and some shadow of you is left in my head, I'm screwing with myself because you left me so twisted and tortured in the cage that I'm not right anymore," his head suddenly snaps across to where Lucifer is standing.

But he's gone.

_Clink._


	6. Chapter 6

"So, okay, we've got three kids dead this month – they all look like accidents: girl falls off her balcony, boy trips going down the stairs – but they all have one major thing in common."

"Which is?"

"Well, all of them died of the same injury – blunt head trauma," Sam holds out some of the autopsy and crime scene photos he'd gathered since he started researching the potential case. Dean takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the pictures and notice the similarities. He winces, wrinkling his nose and looking back ahead.

"So, anything else?"

"Well the victims all seem to be in their late teens, or adults who might work near kids or could be associated with them I guess. And deaths like these have been happening for the past four months."

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Sam looks into the rear-view mirror to see that Lucifer has adapted the role of the ever-annoying child, tapping his fingers on the glass of the window on the backseat as he stares dreamily out the window.

"I guess it's worth looking into at least," Dean says, flicking his eyes across to his brother when he speaks to make eye-contact. "Who's first on the hit-list then?"

"Most recent victim was a kid called Kevin Taylor, seventeen, fell getting out of the shower, cracked his head open on the tile floor," Sam recites his notes leafing through them so easily. Unlike Dean, his research is always pristine, organised and just second nature to him at that point.

"Not anymore."

"Huh?" Sam asks, looking up from the stack of pages on his lap to question Dean further but he doesn't need to when he sees the police car and small crowd gathered outside one of the houses on the quiet street.

"Think it's another one?" Dean asks, pulling up across the road.

"Worth checking out, I guess," Sam says, popping open the glove-box to pull out the FBI ID badges they liked to keep handy in the Impala. He tucks it into his breast pocket of the too-small suit jacket which will forever smell of the thrift store they bought it from – moth balls and old people. Well, that and the old take-away Dean had left in the trunk and forgotten about a few weeks ago. Not exactly a pleasant combination.

They cross the street briskly, with that cocky air of confidence a real agent would have – well from what they'd observed of the agents in cheesy cop shows and from the ones who had tried to track them down quite a few times. Flashing their badges they duck under the tape which has been holding back the locals and approach one of the officers who seems to be running the show.

"Hey, I'm Agent Brigati, this is my partner Agent Weis," Dean says smoothly, gesturing to Sam in sequence as they show their badges as proof of their fake identities. "We're in town investigating a series of 'accidental' deaths, we happened to be driving past – would you mind telling us what's going on here?"

The man stares at them with the usual detest they get when impersonating 'those FBI assholes' by officers. He's not exactly in his prime anymore, probably in his late forties with tufts of grey weaving through his dark hair. He chews on his lip for a second before begrudgingly leading them toward the house, "we got the call about an hour ago, the kid – Lewis Pounce – fell down the stairs, probably."

Sam's face creased, "so why is there such a commotion if it was just an accident?"

"Because," he said, pushing open the door to the boys' room, "he was found in his room, and we couldn't find traces of his blood anywhere else in the house, or outside."

The Winchesters share a look of confusion before they catch sight of the body, lying in an awkward position in the middle of the room – the same bloodied bruise as the others had had in the pictures they'd seen. Lucifer smiles up at him from over the body, a sort of sadistic smile that gives Sam the chills. He can't stand seeing the bodies of dead kids.

It was obvious something strange was going on in the town, it was _what _that was that was the real problem though.

"So what're you thinking? Some angry spirit on a revenge spree?" Dean asks Sam with a mouth stuffed full of a chunk of greasy burger.

Sam gives him a dry look before focusing on his salad, "I don't know, it's probably a Ghost of some sort, but how much could a bunch of kids have done that deserve this kind of punishment?"

"Been stranger things," Dean shrugs with his infinite wisdom, taking another bite and chewing loudly.

They sit in silence for a few moments, with the buzz of life in the fast-food chain filling in the gaps. The place is a dizzying combination of horribly bright reds, fake leather and plastic.

"The pattern with the head injuries… do you think that might have been how the spirit died?" Sam suggests.

Dean's bottom lip sticks out a little when he shrugs this time, "worth checking into," he says, "how about you go check into that and I'll interview some of the families and friends?"

Sam nods, "sure," but in his head he's thinking – _typical Dean, anything to avoid doing actual research._

"So, Mrs Pounce, did your son have any enemies?" Dean asks a little bluntly, after they disperse of the small-talk and he had convinced her that it was absolutely necessary that she be interviewed on the matter yet again.

She looks taken aback, "n-no, he was always a good boy, well-liked in school…" she stops when it looks like the words are choking her, and pats away a tear forming in the corner of her eye. "Why would someone do this to my Lewis?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably on the couch opposite her, he never liked women crying. It was harder for him to see this than some screwed up monster having a flesh-feast. "It's okay Mrs Pounce, I just need you to think real hard, do you remember him being in any arguments, or getting into trouble the last few days?"

She looks up again, eyes shrink-wrapped in tears, clutching her handkerchief tight in one hand, "I d-don't think so; like I said, he was friendly with everyone, never got into any trouble," she tells him again. "And it's _Ms _Pounce," she adds, with a glint in her eye that Dean is all too familiar with.

He springs to his feet, folding his doodle-covered notepad into his pocket, "thank-you so much for your help, we'll be in touch if anything comes up," his words come fast and almost tumble together as he spreads a thick, face smile all over his face. "I'll see myself out."

"So you were friends of Lewis?" Dean confirms, holding his notepad at the ready for more scribbles of cartoons and boobs.

The three boys nod.

"Well, can you tell me if he had any enemies in school, picked any fights with someone recently?" He's hoping to get a more accurate response from Lewis Pounce's friends, who he's managed to corner after enquiring at the boy's school. They stand in the now vacated Principal's office, with high tensions, only the sound of a lazy fan in the corner, occasionally fluttering weighted paper on his desk, breaks up the silence.

Two of the boys immediately disagree where as one nods his head. The others scowl at him as if he's given up the country's secrets a minute into the torture. "_Kyle_," One of them hisses at their smaller friend.

"Kyle Richards?" Dean asks, checking a note he had made underneath a crude drawing of a cat.

The boy nods again.

"Well?"

The other boys continue to scowl at him, and he seems to shrivel into silence.

Dean rolls his eyes, "may I remind you that with-holding information is a criminal offence," he bluffs, knowing he's heard something like this on some TV show or another.

Kyle finally swallows and the boys look away, "he got into an argument with the Ruger brothers a few days ago."

Dean purses his lips, wondering how relevant it could actually be, "what happened?"

"I think Lewis walked into the younger one in the hall between classes, and his older brother was there and ended up picking a fight. They only really pushed eachother before it was broken up, but that's probably enough."

"_Kyle!_" the other boy hisses now, looking exasperated at his apparent rat of a friend.

"'Enough'?"

He looks between Dean and his friends before finally saying, "well, there's this story that if you cross the Ruger's you get killed."

Dean raises an eyebrow, definitely relevant, "how long has this been goin' on for?"

Kyle shrugs, looking up to his friends to confer, they perform some strange teenage interpretive dance made up of grunts and shrugs before Kyle finally turns back and says, "yeah, about four months."

"I'm gonna need these Ruger kids' names and address."

Dean's cell buzzes as he's leaving the school; he answers it immediately, "get anything?"

"Yeah, so get this, a kid in town died of a head-injury just like the other victims-"

"Four months ago?" Dean guesses with a flat voice as he fiddles in his pocket for his keys.

"Yeah, actually… his name was-"

"Let me guess, Ruger?"

He presses the key into the lock of the Impala, opening his baby and jumping in, slamming the door behind him as he listens to Sam fumble for words on the other end of the line.

"Nathan Sanderson-Ruger. Adopted by the Rugers after being fostered by them for a year – how did you know?"

"I talked to some of Lewis Pounce's friends, mentioned some town-legend growing around the Ruger boys – bug them, and you get ganked, basically," he explains to his brother, starting the engine and pulling out of the carpark with his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

"You get an address?"

"Yeah, the secretary at the school dug it up for me, I'm headed there now – you still at the library? I can pick you up on the way."

"Yeah, great."

_Click._

After pressing the doorbell and waiting outside the inconspicuous suburban house, Dean and Sam are greeted by a shrewd-looking teenage boy. He stares at them as if they could be here to steal his family. Dean exchanges a look with his brother before flashing his badge, "I'm Agent Brigati, this is my partner Agent Weis – we were hoping to speak with a Ryan and Daniel Ruger?"

A man steps in behind the boy at the door before he had a chance to snap some snide remark at the Winchesters, "what is this regarding?" he asks, putting a hand on his sons shoulder.

"We're investigating a series of deaths in the local area, and some of the people we've interviewed mentioned that your sons knew the victims at school – we just want to talk for a few minutes and see if we can get any more information," Sam speaks with his usual persuasive tone, a bed-side manner Dean can't often replicate to the same standard. It's just one of those emotional moose things.

The man looks unsure for a moment, but eventually he steps aside, tugging his son along with him. They nod and thank him as they move inside. He sends his son off to get his brother, and begrudgingly he leaves as they are ushered into the sitting-room. When the Hunters are seated, the man finally extends a hand to introduce himself, "Denny Ruger," he says; and they shake his hand in turn, telling him they're names again.

When his sons return they stand hesitantly in the door, with the older of the two protectively shielding his younger brother. Denny ushers them over and they sit at either side of him opposite the Winchesters, "these are my sons, Daniel and Ryan," he says, Ryan being the older one which they met at the door.

"Great," Dean says, throwing his hands up a little as he looks briefly to Sam, "well, uh – we were wondering how well you both knew the victims?"

Ryan shrugs roughly, still looking at the Winchester brothers in a somewhat hostile manner. Daniel speaks up though, receiving an equally sharp look from Ryan, "we've spoken to a few of them I guess – some were in our classes."

Dean smiles at Daniel, almost to rub in the fact that he was cooperating with him to Ryan. "Great, so the last time you spoke to them before they died – did anything significant happen?" Daniel looks a little timid now, after the harsh look from his brother, Dean sighs, "you should know that any information you withhold from us or refusal to cooperate can be used against you later if anything does come from this," he can see Sam struggling not to roll his eyes at his brother who is clearly doing a poor job of reciting lines from some cheesy cop show. The two boys nod a little sullenly in response and Sam flips to a page, reading out the names of the previous victims one by one.

"Let's start with the most recent, Lewis Pounce."

"He bumped into me in the hall…" Daniel says quietly, "and Ryan picked a fight with him – but nothing happened."

Denny looks surprised as his gaze shifts between his sons, but he doesn't interrupt.

"Holly Gibbs."

"I… asked her out on a date, and she turned me down." Ryan says stiffly; Dean suppresses a smile as he scribbles in his notepad.

"Ryan McDonald."

"He got caught cheating off of me in a test and I got a zero for it."

"George Seeley?"

"He's a jerk. We had an argument."

"I can see a bit of a trend here…" Dean says to Sam, and Denny looks a little outraged at this.

"Are you telling me my sons are suspects? How could you possibly think they would be capable of this?"

Dean raises an eyebrow at the man, but doesn't respond directly, "can I ask about your other son, Nathan Sanderson-Ruger?"

Denny stiffens and the brothers seem to pale a little, Daniel letting out an almost incoherent noise. If that didn't seem suspicious, they didn't know what did.

"How did he die?" Sam asks carefully, looking at them with soft puppy-dog eyes. The eyes that broke Dean's heart on occasion, he had been a sucker for that look when Sam was a kid.

Denny swallows hard, "they say he killed himself – jumped off the roof." He chokes up a little and looks away, Ryan looks up at his dad immediately but Daniel looks at the ground.

"You don't think so?" Sam asks, surprised.

Denny looks back at Sam, his gaze hard, "of course not – he was only a kid. He was happy, innocent. A little strange, but I don't think he was being bullied… he wouldn't do that to himself. B-…" he pauses, trying to get a hold of his emotions, "but there's no other explanation."

Ryan looks outraged at the Winchesters having brought his father to the verge of tears, his head snaps around to stare at them eyes like fire, "just get out. We're done here."

Sam and Dean look at eachother, in surprise, "we just have a few more questions," Sam tries to say, but Ryan leaps to his feet and hands clenched into fists, "no, just get _out_."

Slowly, Sam and Dean stand and eventually nod, "okay kid – we'll come back again if we need anything else."

Ryan's eyes get a little wilder but he doesn't say anything, just watches the brothers leave the house.

"So that was weird, right?" Dean asks when they're back in the car.

"Totally weird." And he can't help but notice Lucifer perched on the roof of the house, swinging his legs over the edge a little too cheerfully.

Dean lies back on his bed in the Motel room while Sam flicks through local newspapers articles on his laptop. Much to Sam's distaste, Lucifer is lying on his bed. He hates the quieter moments like this, moments when his subconscious could crawl up on him and his own personal demons could haunt him. Luckily he was keeping quiet for now, and this allowed Sam to concentrate on what he was doing.

"Got it."

Dean sits up a little, waiting while his brother scans the article detailing the 'suicide' of Nathan Sanderson-Ruger. After a few moments, Sam finally speaks up again, "okay, so get this – four months ago, Nathan was found in the back garden of the Ruger house having supposedly jumped from the roof. He wasn't killed from hitting the ground though; on the way down his head hit off of the families Trampoline, cracking his skull."

"Just like the other victims."

"Exactly."

"You think he was just trying to jump onto the Trampoline and lost his footing or something? I mean, the guy did say he was only a little kid."

"Maybe," Sam considers, pursing his lips and looking back at the article again in case he missed something.

"What if he isn't the vengeful spirit – what if he's the first victim?" Dean suggests, and Lucifer makes a snorting noise on the bed next to his.

Sam shakes his head, "no, think about it – all of the kids the Ruger's talked to before that – their last interactions were arguments and that kind of thing. It has to be Nathan defending his brothers, right?"

"I guess so – but doesn't that mean…"

"What?"

"Well, our last run-in with them didn't go so smoothly; you think…?"

"Oh great," Sam says, "he's going to come for us now."

"We better go salt and burn the little monster."

Sam's eyes shoot up to meet his older brother's gaze, "but Dean, he's only been dead a few months – his body will still be…" he trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

"I know, but we don't exactly have a choice here, unless you want your head smashed in?"

Sam swallows hard, "I guess we don't."

"Alright, it'll be dark soon, we'll go to the graveyard then."

"This is wrong, Dean," Sam says just before his shovel connects with the casket at last. Not only would the body still be pretty much fresh, it would be a little kid, only eleven years old.

In a disturbing sort of way, the scene is lightened by Luci, who Sam suddenly notices is swimming through the pond just a little away from them, "_seriously_?" he mutters under his breath.

"He's killing people, Sam, he's killing kids for nothing. He's a monster, and he's already dead. This is our job." Dean's words are solid like stone, and Sam knows he has no way of arguing around this. So he shuts his mouth and clears the rest of the dirt off of the top of the coffin.

Dean jumps in next to him with a crowbar and starts to prise it open. Sam uses this as an excuse to scramble out of the hole and find the salt and lighter fluid. He really doesn't want to see this, and he _really _doesn't want to do this.

The sound of Lucifer splashing in the water is really beginning to get irritating too.

There's a crack as he finally gets it open, and a muffled coughing when Dean receives the full brunt of the smell of death that rises from the coffin. "Come on Sammy, hurry up," he finally manages to call out and he hurries to grab everything they need from the bag they brought from the trunk of the Impala which waited in the carpark. Dean is pulling himself out of the grave when Sam returns, and he purposefully avoids looking down before throwing the salt to his brother. That was probably how he managed to see the flicker behind him before a small, black-haired boy appearing suddenly behind Dean.

"D-Dean…" Sam says, taking a step back.

Dean spins around to see the boy, and swings the iron crowbar through the air, causing him to flicker away again. "He's after me then? Great." He hurries to shower the body in salt before throwing the can to one side and gesturing for Sam to toss him the lighter fluid, but just before he throws it, Dean is slammed to one side and pinned against a tree.

"Dean!"

"Finish it, Sam!"

Nathan is approaching Dean slowly, taking little notice of Sam now, who is trying his best to look into the grave just long enough to coat his body in the liquid. He fiddles with a lighter, pushing away the sounds of Dean's struggle so he can concentrate. He drops it into the trench and watches as it's suddenly filled with light. Looking across to Dean, he sees Nathan suddenly snap around to stare at Sam before disappearing. Dean falls to the ground, landing in a crouched position and remains like that for a few moments before Sam helps him to his feet.

"Shouldn't he have-"

"Yup."

"But he didn't-"

"Nope."

"It didn't work."

Dean shakes his head, and Sam can't take his eyes away from the desecrated grave of the little boy. It was him – that much was certain – he just wasn't being kept here by his body.

"We need to go back to the Ruger's and find out what really happened."

"Dean…"

Dean swallows hard when he looks at Sam and just nods before they clear away their things swiftly and return to the Impala, leaving the graveyard alight with the burning body.

Dean's fist hammers on the door of the Ruger family house. Sam makes a face at him, but he responds sharply, "we don't know how much time the graveyard stunt bought us. We don't know anything, we just need to find out what's keeping him around and destroy it."

"And banging on his family's door at 12am is the way to do that?"

True enough the lights were only flickering on now at the racket. Denny answers the door, still cocooned in sleep, rubbing his eyes by pushing his hands under his glasses. A deep frown creases his brow as he recognises the brothers and pulls his dressing-robe tighter around himself, "what are you doing here?"

"We need to speak to your sons, it's important." Dean's voice is urgent and thunderous as he demands the man.

"Do you know what _time _it is?" Denny looks a little outraged, especially at being ordered around so bluntly.

"It's important," Dean repeats himself.

"What's so important that it can't wait until the morning? They're both in bed – and there's no way you can be on the clock at this time. Get off my porch."

"Are you _kidding me_?" Dean snaps, rolling his eyes.

"Dean." Sam says to his brother as a warning, not wanting things to get out of hand. Dean sighs and backs off, Sam turns his attention to Denny, "please – just five minutes."

"No" Denny sneers, "get the hell off my property."

Sam bites his lip, but holds up his hands defensively and they move away from the house, back towards the car, "we'll be back in the morning."

Denny slams the door shut, but there's the ghost of a face which catches Sam's eye in the upstairs window, when they back away. Sam makes a small gesture to Daniel before they get into the car, waiting. Salt-gun and iron at hand, they wait for the now youngest Ruger boy to slink across the street and climb into the back-seat of the car.

"I want to help you," is all he says, a look of guilt on his face. Sam and Dean exchange a glance, and Sam can't help but feel wrong again tonight about pretending to be cops and having a kid in the back seat of their car.

"What can you tell us about Nathan?"

"He didn't kill himself – it was my fault, and Ryan's."

"What happened? You can trust us."

He looks up, finally his eyes heavy with regret and other things he should be too young to carry the burden of. "We used to play tricks on him all the time, make him do silly things and scare him. And he was just happy that we were playing with him I guess. He never questioned anything we told him to do… he just… loved us. He… _trusted us._"

Sam and Dean stare at him as he speaks. Something about his voice lulls them into a trancelike state as he tells his story.

"We told him he could fly. We told him if he jumped off the roof he would fly. We gave him an umbrella, and told him to walk on the roof to where his bedroom window was – because it was above the trampoline. We thought if he opened the umbrella and he landed on it… he would be fine. It wasn't meant to hurt him. But he slipped and fell before he got to it… and we couldn't… so we hid the umbrella so no one would guess it was us… and…" He stops, choking with rough sobs, which break up his words and make what he says after this unintelligible.

"Hey, hey – it's okay. It was an accident, alright?" Sam says, trying to calm the boy down a little. And with that same bedside manner voice he managed to.

Daniel takes a few deep breaths before continuing, "we started noticing everyone dying. People that we had been annoyed by, I guess. And then it sort of made sense… All the rumours and stories… I'm so sorry."

Dean and Sam nod in unison and then exchange and strange glance before Sam speaks to Daniel again, "did you keep anything of his? Something that meant a lot to him?"

Daniel pauses to think about this for a moment, "we kept his locket," he says, "he used to wear it constantly, it belonged to his mom – his birth mom."

"Great, where is it?"

"In my room, I can go get it. Will you still be here?"

"Yeah, just be as quick as you can."

Daniel nods, wiping at his eyes and slips back out of the car, slinking into the darkness and disappearing back into his house. There's a chill suddenly, and Dean breathes out to see a cloud of white appear before him. He exchanges a worried look with Sam and they turn around to see Nathan sitting in the back seat.

With the boy so close now, in the fraction of a second before Dean lunges out with the crowbar, Sam notices the peculiar look on Nathan's face. It isn't an expression of wrath or hatred, it's one more blank of emotion. His eyes seem so piercing on an otherwise insignificant face, but he just seems innocent; like all of this is a game, he doesn't feel anything – only love for his brothers and the need to protect them and help them. He was too young to truly understand life and death, what condoned it, and what made it worse as Daniel had put it was that he was so naïve and child-like despite being eleven. He saw all of this as innocently as he saw the 'games' his adoptive brothers would play with him.

But a second later, he flickers away as the iron connects with his ghostly form. Sam wrestles through junk on the floor of the Impala to find something they could make a fire in, "this?" he asks quickly holding out a mug Dean had picked up somewhere for winning a pie-eating contest. He makes a face but nods. Dean leaps out of the car and opens the trunk to get the salt and lighter fluid out, but again is sent hurdling across the street, connecting with a high-fence. The crowbar drops with a heavy _clank _as Nathan comes towards him again, drifting eerily across the street as if he's hovering. Sam darts around the car to finish where Dean had left off; Daniel appears by his side just in time. He holds out the cup and Daniel hesitantly drops the necklace in while Sam covers it in salt and the fluid.

Nathan nods his head and Dean begins to ascend floating higher and higher until the little boy will be happy enough to drop him on his head. Dean lets out a choked noise to hurry his brother up and Sam lights a scrap of paper, dropping it into the mug which he sets on the ground before it becomes too hot to hold. Daniel stares at his dead brother, a ghastly look on his face, and actually jumps back when the black-haired boy turns to face Daniel and Sam. But before he can start to move towards them, he begins to burn away into the air.

Daniel reaches out towards him, teary eyed, but his brother's gone.

When he's almost fully burned away his mental grip on Dean is released and the man starts falling downwards suddenly, Sam cries out and sprints forward, leaping just in time for Dean to crash into him. The two men lie tangled on the side of the street, rendered silent from the sudden pain of the collision. It takes a few minutes before either actually attempt to move. Sam curls around under Dean, checking he's alright. His green eyes flicker open and he smiles, "did we get him?"

Sam chuckles lightly, "yeah, we got him."

"I noticed something," Sam says from the passenger seat of the Impala as the Winchesters ride out of town.

"About what?"

Sam looks across at his brother carefully trying to decide how to approach what he wants to say, "about the Ruger boys, and Nathan," he pauses to chew his lip a little, watching Dean's expression. "They're a bit like us… and Cas."

Dean seems to tense a little at the mention of the Angel. He doesn't say anything but stares straight ahead. Sam slowly moves to stare out at the road ahead too.

"Daniel and Ryan being so close, Nathan becoming their brother. Loving them so much he does everything for them – including literally killing for them. And… falling for them," he actually looks taken aback at the coincidence, only realising it as he speaks, "Dean… we called him our brother, but we didn't always treat him like one."

"I know."

"We used him, he gave us everything, and we just abandoned him every time he asked for something in return."

"I know, Sam."

"Dean, we have to find him. He has to be out there somewhere, he can't be-"

"God-damn it, Sam, just drop it."

Sam looks across at Dean. His knuckles are white from his grip on the wheel, and there's an expression on his face Sam has never seen before. And it scares him how pained his brother looks, so he stops and looks out the front window again.

The silence is broken up by Dean's phone ringing, and he flips it open pressing it to his ear, "Bobby? Hey, what's up?" his voice is still a little cracked, "uh-huh. What _really? _Sure, Bobby – we're on it." He snaps the phone shut again and throws it onto the dashboard.

"We're we headed?"

"Detroit. Some guy got run over."

Sam's eyebrows push together in a frown, "we're investigating a traffic accident?"

"He got run over in his apartment."


End file.
